


Where My Demons Hide

by f0rtytw0



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rtytw0/pseuds/f0rtytw0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel thinks he may be able to help stop Dean's nightmares of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where My Demons Hide

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born of a headcanon I have that Castiel would sing Dean to sleep (in Enochian), and originally posted on my tumblr.  
> The title of the work came from the song "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.

It happened every now and again, they'd come across a demon who seemed to have intimate knowledge about Dean's stint in Hell. They knew what he went through, and what he did to others. They knew that he was the first seal.  
And damn did they like to use it against him. They'd hiss incessantly about Alastair, how weak Dean had been, and then later about what a shining student he became. They'd whisper the names of the souls Dean had tortured and the sounds of their screams would echo in Dean's head until Sam finished the exorcism or Dean broke and just killed the bastard with Ruby's knife.  
No matter which way the demon went out, it would end with Dean leaving Sam to clean up the mess and drinking himself into a stupor at the closest bar. He'd stumble back to the motel if it was close enough, but sometimes Sam had to pick him up. Once he got in bed, nothing could relax his mind. He'd sleep eventually, but he always had night terrors.  
Castiel kept an eye on Dean and Sam and sometimes intervened if he felt that it was necessary, though possessions never seemed to be a problem for the boys. But after a string of them in the Midwest, Cas decided something needed to be done. It seemed like every demon they came across was throwing these memories back on Dean, and he spent every night writhing and screaming in his sleep. Cas couldn’t stand it anymore.

**

They were in Nebraska when Cas finally stepped in. Sam was taking care of the bodies of several unfortunate construction workers, and Dean was already on his way to the bottom of a bottle.  
“Dean, we need to talk.” It was a fairly crowded bar, so no one seemed to notice the sudden appearance, Dean didn’t even jump when Castiel materialized next to him. He didn’t answer, either, just stared into the bottom of his empty glass. Eventually, he set it down and the bartender poured him another double – if he kept at this pace, she’d be getting another bottle within twenty minutes. He threw back what was in his glass and looked at Cas.  
“There’s nothing to talk about, Cas,” he tried to mean what he said, but the uncertainty and pain in his voice were clear. He hung his head, staring at the bar.  
“Dean, what you’re going through… what these demons are saying…”  
“It’s nothing, Cas!” he gritted his teeth and slammed his glass back down, “There is nothing to talk about.”  
“I’m just saying that I know–“  
“Bullshit, Cas! Bullshit. You pulled me out. You were there and back. You do not know what I saw and what I felt and what I… and what I did for forty years. Don’t try to tell me you know, Cas, because you don’t have a goddamn clue.” Dean slapped a couple twenties down and stumbled out of the bar.  
“I’m just trying to help,” Cas whispered, but no one was listening.

**

“We have to do something about your brother.”  
“Cas, what the hell!” Sam had been busy cleaning up Dean’s mess and hadn’t heard the familiar flutter of wings announcing Castiel’s arrival.  
“I’m sorry, I just… I am concerned about Dean… about his health.”  
“Yeah well, welcome to the club,” Sam emptied a gas can on three construction workers that were piled up in a hole next to him. They were in an unfinished subdivision, so it was highly unlikely that the fire would attract anyone’s attention. “He’s getting reckless. We knew there was probably more than one demon here, but he was so caught up in taking out that big guy that these other two jumped us.”  
Cas stepped over to the edge of the hole as Sam dropped the matches in. The bodies went up in flames.  
“I approached him at the bar tonight. He did not want to speak to me about what has been happening. He was angry when he left,” Castiel paused for a moment, “I may be able to help him, Sam.”

**

“…and this won’t hurt him at all?” Sam was skeptical.  
“No, it shouldn’t. When I raised Dean from Hell, a kind of… bond formed between us. Due to this, I may be able to use my Grace to help calm his mind before he starts having the memories of Hell come back to him. I am not positive, but I do believe this has a chance of working.”

**

Dean finally wandered back to the motel shortly after two in the morning. He spent several minutes harassing the woman in room 134 before the manager spent another fifteen minutes reminding him that he was in room 136. Castiel and Sam were waiting for him.

**

“So you want me… to let… some angel molest me? So… so I’ll get some sleep? Yeah, to hell with both of you.” Dean was clearly wasted; he stumbled over to the bed and fell on top of it. He was asleep within minutes.  
Sam and Cas exchanged uneasy looks.  
“Should we do this without his permission? He’ll freak if he wakes up.”  
“Yes, I am sure he will… freak… if he catches us doing this to him without his permission, but I personally do not want to spend another night knowing that Dean is in pain. I am also inclined to believe that he will not awake for quite some time due to his current state of inebriation.”  
“Your call, Cas,” Sam sighed.  
“I think it is advisable that we continue.”  
Sam and Castiel removed Dean’s jacket – leaving him in a plain black tshirt – and rolled him onto his right side. Cas slid his hand up Dean’s left arm and pressed his hand against the scar. He sat with his eyes closed, muttering to himself for several minutes.  
“I’m worried about you, as well, Sam,” Cas said as he stood up. “You have not been sleeping either, because you’ve been worrying about Dean. Tonight, please try to get some rest. This should work, and for some reason, if it doesn’t, I’ll be watching.”  
With a soft fluttering sound and a slight draft of air, he was gone.

**

He was fishing. Dean liked the dreams where he was actually doing something normal for once; just sitting on a dock by some vague mountain lake, enjoying the sun, the fresh air, the quiet. He was just thinking about bird calls when he got a bite. He normally never caught anything in his dreams. He didn’t even get nibbles. Hell, he didn’t even know if there were bait and a hook at the end of his line. He didn’t care. That wasn’t the point.  
But there was definitely something tugging on that fishing line.

**

Cas didn’t actually leave when he finished talking to Sam. He stayed in the room. Of course, he respected Sam’s privacy when the time came, but he had been transfixed on Dean since he tried to calm him down. The truth was he had no idea if this even had a chance of working. It was a shot in the dark, but he had to take it. He hated to see any of his charges suffering, but Dean especially. That was one thing that he was absolutely sure of: they did share a profound bond.

**

Dean had never actually been fishing before, but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to pull the fish out of the water, not let the fish pull you in. He was also fairly certain that the water shouldn’t be this hot, and that demons didn’t swim in secluded mountain lakes.

**

Castiel just sat and watched. So far, it seemed like it was working. Dean wasn’t showing any signs of the night terrors like he normally had. He still wouldn’t leave though. Not until he was sure.

**

Suddenly, it wasn’t a lake anymore. He wasn’t swimming; he was spread across the rack in Hell. Alastair was breathing down his neck, weapon in hand, though Dean couldn’t see what it was. Maybe it was the flail, he had taken lashings all day before, he could do it again. Once your skin was ripped off, it was all the same excruciating pain anyway.

**

Dean’s brow furrowed in his sleep, his body began to tense. He ground his teeth together and his back arched sharply, violently as he let out a tortured yell. His back unclenched and arched again, and again, and again as the Alastair in his dreams lashed his back repeatedly.  
Cas looked on, helpless and alone while his charge continued to thrash and wail in his sleep. Though he was unsure of what would happen, he had truly hoped that this would work and that it would have calmed Dean’s mind. He hung his head as Dean continued yelling, he had failed his charges.

**

The lashings stopped eventually, muscle and bone all exposed, blood pouring down Dean’s back, injuries that should have killed him, but couldn’t. He could hear footsteps walking back around; Dean supposed it was time for Alastair to ask him if he wanted to come off of the rack yet.  
He was surprised to see his father standing in front of him.

**

After about thirty minutes of Dean’s night terrors and yelling, Sam began to stir. Castiel didn’t want him to wake up; he didn’t want Sam to know that he had failed to stop his brother’s suffering. Dean’s yelling subsided as tears began to stream down his face, and Sam drifted back to sleep.

**

John Winchester paced in front of his eldest son. His appraising eyes, all violence and venom, looked over the bruised and bleeding brow line, noted the blood still dripping from Dean’s back. He stalked over to the rack; Dean thought his father was going to let him down, but John only tightened the restraints, enough to break bones in Dean’s wrists.  
“Dean, did you know…” John was pausing to look through a wide array of knives laid on a table in front of him. He found one he liked and moved back towards his son. He drove the knife into Dean’s chest and twisted. “Did you know that I never liked you very much?”

**

After forty-five minutes Castiel couldn’t handle it anymore. He had to try something, he just didn’t know what. He sat on the bed next to Dean, and placed his hand on his shoulder again. He held tightly and refused to let go despite Dean’s thrashing. Of course, nothing happened, but he was unwilling and unable to leave his charge’s side. He was desperate.  
After he few minutes he started praying quietly in Enochian, chanting softly while his hand was still pressed against Dean’s scar. He was praying for peace and rest, for himself and especially for Dean. His chanting soon turned to singing, and he started to realize that Dean was beginning to relax.  
Castiel figured that the night terrors were over, sometimes they lasted all night, and sometimes they lasted only a few hours. He sat for a few more minutes, still singing, and got up when it seemed like Dean was resting more peacefully. 

**

“…so upset when Sam left? It was because I would have rather seen you go, you clingy little bastard.” John’s words pierced deeper than the knife, which was currently pulling apart tendons in Dean’s shoulder.  
And then suddenly, the knife was gone, his father was gone, the restraints had loosened and he fell from the rack. The fall hurt less than it should have, fewer bones seemed to be broken. As he stood, Dean could feel the air cooling and hear less screaming. He closed his eyes, trying to work out why this would be happening, and when he opened them again, he was back on the dock by the lake.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be a second (smutty?) part to this later.


End file.
